


Lesson Learned: St Louis Is Not New York (Or New Orleans)

by Ryuutchi



Category: Lackadaisy
Genre: Bad Decisions, Closeted Character, Dubious Consent, Guns, M/M, Misanthropy, Rejection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-18
Updated: 2010-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-13 18:12:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryuutchi/pseuds/Ryuutchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is all about poor decisions.  The point is what you make of them, who you make them with, and how much fun you decide to have along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lesson Learned: St Louis Is Not New York (Or New Orleans)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Domingo Ocelot (docelot)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/docelot/gifts).



> Thanks to Comix for shoring me up. Thanks to Curiouslyfic for doing a technical beta when I needed fresh eyes.
> 
> Translation notes are at the bottom.
> 
> For those who missed the [Scrapbook](http://lackadaisy.foxprints.com/exhibit.php?exhibitid=76) image, "Elijah Metzger" was one of Mordecai's previous aliases. I'm assuming here that it's also his real name.

**I. New Orleans**  
"Good luck, mon frere," she says, and kicks back with one of her boys down between her legs. She done bring more dan nuff home for both of us. She know how much I do love those button-up types. Dey look so sweet, with dey glasses askew, and dey fur all ruffled up. My sister, she's good at scrounging up food, money, and dem boys who know jus' how to treat a lady -- or a gentleman, fo' that matter.

I smile my mos' charming smile and watch dem hackles go straight up. She never tells dem what dey in for when dey go home with her. Sometimes they relax when I tell dem I'm her brother, sometimes they get even more nervous, and den sometimes dey shoot fo' double 'r nothin'. I lak those de best of all.

"Ain't nothin' to be afraid of here, cher," I say, and watch his tail puff out lak an angry kitten's. Never you mind dat he's old nuff to know what a man an' a woman do in a cabin on da bayou. Or a man an' a man.

None a' dese cute little city boys can hide dey feelins one good goddamn.

I ruffle his fur when I lean in, grabbing hold of his scruff, and he goes limp 'gainst my chest. Tuxedo Toms, dey look tough, but dey go limp jus' soon as you give dem a little what for. They complain 'bout getting dey suits a little dirty -- he yelps a little when I pop a button, and squirms, red under his fur like a crawdad in boilin' water and 'bout as tasty.

He arches under m' hands, tryin' to help wriggle out a' his clothes and into my bed. Gettin' a little ahead a' hisself, I tink. He got a nice white belly under dat shirt, soft an' warm. Makes me want ta give him a long nuzzle, just to get m' scent all over dat pretty black face and white throat. He sighs and, quick as a flash, I got him out 'a de rest of his clothes.

Sure nuff, he jus' as fine out 'a dem as he was in dem. His tail wraps 'round m' wrist, and I scratch at de base -- yeah, he's one of those dat lick anyting if you scratch dem right. So I feed him my fingers, to give him someting to lick proper. His tongue is rough an' he swirls it lak a real pro skirt. "Y' real good at dat," I tell him, an' he purrs.

He don't stop lickin' when I stop scratchin' -- for all de protests, he seem to be enjoyin' hisself. His tail goes right up, an' I take dat invitation.

I take m' time with him, and soon he stop payin' attention to anyting but de movements of our bodies 'gainst each other.

"That was amazin'," he says, when we was done, an' reaches fo' his shirt.

"An' tank you for de lovely money, cher," I say. His wallet already be in my sister's pretty hands, an' she hitches up her skirt to tuck it safe away in her garter. _Her_ boy looks dazed, leanin' against de door lak he don' know what hit him. She puts her leg up on de rail a' de house overlooking de gran' swamp an' smiles at him.

"Wha-- you _dirty thieves_!" my boy hollers. I reach for a butt an' matches, and hop back when he reaches fo' me. It don' take but a second to give him a one-two, an' he stumbles to Serafine. She don' miss de signal and kicks him hard in de shin.

He goes tumblin' into the water wit a gran splash, sputterin' and cursin' the whole long way. His fren comes runnin' too, hollerin' as he climbs into de li'l boat Serafine used to bring dem here in de first place. "You can't do this to us! We're the mayor's sons! The mayor himself is going to come lookin' for you! There's no place you'll be able to hide, you bastards. We'll hang you by the neck!" He goes on lak dat, 'til he manages to get hisself lost in de maze a' trees. It'll take him a day to get hisself home.

"Maybe we shouldn'ta brought those last ones home, be-be," she leans her head 'gainst my chest and laughs a little rumbling purr.

"Mais, I hear St Louis's nice dis time a' year."

* * *

 **II. New York**  
"With an Italian, no less! _Meshugana_! _Faygela_!" And Moishe continues in that vein, growing more irate and less complimentary by the second. He finally runs out of insults and trails off spluttering. Hymie looks contemplatively at his gun and waits to be told to pop me. I wait to be told if I am going to walk away from this.

Was he worth it? Probably not. But his hands were big and strong, his expression focused, as though he took everything I said seriously. And he had been warm against me. I doubt he is waiting to be disciplined, though. He is powerful enough that he can get away with a few indiscretions, as long as he doesn't get attached.

Neither of us were attached.

Hymie and I watch each other. I was frisked before the meeting, and the ankle revolver no one found isn't enough to kill everyone in the room before they can shoot me.

"Well, Elijah? Are you going to explain why the Genovese want us to give them your body? You going to explain to me why you were out there like a _kurveh_ , like a little tramp? Tell me I shouldn't have Hymie put a bullet in your head right now." Moishe slams his hands on the table, making the coffee in his cup slosh onto the table. I watch the dark puddle instead of his face.

"It was an," I pick my words with care, "unlucky misunderstanding. I didn't know who he was, and I intended to be discrete." _And see how well that worked out for you, Elijah._ "After I found out who he was, we decided to continue, because he was an enjoyable companion. I won't deny that we had a relationship." I nearly stumble over the last word, and Hymie's lips twitch into a mirthless smile. His finger twitches towards the gun's hammer. "It wasn't business-related. I don't mix business with pleasure."

Moishe frowns down at the stain spreading on the tablecloth -- he likes mess as little as I. And either way this is a mess.

I force away the thoughts of being pinned down by broad hands and kissed thoroughly; muscular weight against me, straddling my thighs, and a hard, flat chest against mine. All these things are too distracting. _You're not helping your case, Elijah. Focus._ His fur is sandy gold, darker around the ears and the tips of his tail -- a tail that liked to twine around my leg when we were drinking together. I shake my head clear.

"Maybe you don't care to mix business and pleasure. What makes you think Genovese wouldn't, though?" asks Hymie suddenly. Moishe looks up at Hymie with a snarl crossing his face, but Hymie looks at me.

"I'm not the one who lets business matters slip to any _tsatskeh_ who spreads her legs." I meet his gaze, daring him to press the issue. I've cleaned up his messes before. He looks away. I turn back to Moishe, and try not to flinch at the distrust clear in his face. "I'm not lying."

"Why should I believe you?"

A blunt question deserves a blunt answer. "An honest tramp is better than a deceitful son."

Moishe looks from me to Hymie, and then then down at his coffee cup. His anger has transmuted into something cold and hard. "Feh," he says. "You're not worth the ammunition. Go to the devil, for all I care! If I see your face again until I ask for you, I'll shoot you myself. _Farshteisht_?"

"Yes, _tateh_. I understand." I turn, leaving my back open if anyone wants to take a shot.

I've heard St. Louis is nice this time of year.

* * *

 **III. St Louis**  
"You hired me for one thing and only one thing, Mr. Sweet, and being your catamite was not it."

Asa laughed, though his swishing tail belied the carefree expression. "I know Atlas hired you for one thing--"

Mordecai pinned him with a glare, his glasses sliding down his nose as his ears flattened back. "What my relationship with Atlas happened to be is none of your business." He slip around Asa, toward the door, adjusting his cuffs and swung the door open, almost into Nico's face.

"Look lak you an' our employer had a deep talk," Nico said, watching Mordecai's lashing tail. He glanced up, over Mordecai's shoulder to watch Asa smile a faint half-smile and lift up one shoulder in a 'what can you do?' shrug.

Mordecai huffed quietly and stepped around him to head down into the bar proper. Nico followed.

Mordecai turned down the employee corridor, with Nico on his heels and abruptly halted. Nico stepped to the side to keep from bumping into him, and smiled around his cigarette.

"What is it?" Mordecai demanded, tugging at his cuffs to straighten non-existent wrinkles.

"I heard you talkin to Mr. Sweet, an', well, I ain't your employer. Maybe we could work someting out, cher." Nico stepped towards Mordecai, backing him against the wall. The passageway wasn't that small, but it suddenly felt that way to Mordecai, trapped by Nico's body.

Mordecai huffed, pushing his hands against Nico's chest in a futile effort to push him back. Nico's chest was broad and solid under his hands, and familiar in some indefinably pleasant way. "I'm not interested in Mr. Sweet and I am certainly not interested in you, Nico." His tail flicked against Nico's thigh, though and Mordecai wondered whether his dark fur covered the sudden warmth in his face. He leaned back against the wall, and pushed his glasses back up his nose. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Workin' someting out," Nico said, leaning closer, close enough that he could impulsively nuzzle -- a long, slow roll of his body that ended with his cheek rubbed hard and insistent against Mordecai's neck. Mordecai stiffened and tried to scoot back more, his tail puffing out. But Nico's hand pressed against the scruff of Mordecai's neck, and he went limp. It felt oddly good to have someone hold him there.

" _Meenoo, meenoo_ ," Nico crooned, his tail wrapping around Mordecai's hip. "Here, kitty." Mordecai hissed quietly, his ears flicking back, but his fingers ran through the sandy fur of Nico's forearms, feeling it ruffle up under his hands. Nico pressed him back, hands to either side of Mordecai's head, to hold him in place, and kissed him.

Nico tasted like old cigarettes and warm moonshine. Mordecai let Nico's tongue trail sweet promises over his lips and lap at his mouth for a few seconds before biting down roughly. Nico jerked his head back up, licking the blood from his lower lip and smiling with too many teeth.

Mordecai pressed his gun beneath Nico's chin. "Please move, Nico. I have work that needs doing." He frowned up at Nico's pleased expression. "Why are you smiling?"

"Your temper, cher. I tink I lak you."

"My temper is not what you should you should be worried about. My .45 is what you should be worried about." He pressed it harder to the underside of Nico's chin until Nico held up his hands and smiled disarmingly. He took a step back, and Mordecai followed the movements with his gun.

Nico laughed and turned to go back to the bar, either not noticing or not caring that Mordecai still had his gun trained to the back of his head. As he turned, his tail brushed Mordecai's knee, and Mordecai sucked in a breath, his ears flattening again. He watched the sandy tail swish cockily and flick once as its owner turned the corner and went back to the bar area, before he put the gun away and allowed himself a little smile.

Nico, too, smiled as he slid into a booth with Serafine and lit up another cigarette.

Yes, St Louis was very nice this time of year.

**Author's Note:**

> Translation Notes:  
>  _Meshugana_ \- Crazy, Yiddish  
>  _Faygela_ \- Gay (lit. little bird), Yiddish  
>  _Kurveh_ \- Whore (also spelled Korva or Koorvah), Yiddish  
>  _Tsatskeh_ \- A pretty girl (also, a knick-knack or inexepensive trinket), Yiddish  
>  _Farshteisht?_ \- Understand?, Yiddish  
>  _Tateh_ \- Father, Yiddish  
>  _Meenoo, meenoo_ \- Here, kitty kitty, Cajun


End file.
